


Explosive Blunderbuss – coffeeshop AU

by LorianO



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Cynthia is nice AU, Existential Crisis, M/M, apparently record store AU is a thing and I want to read the hell outta that, bonding over Lazaretto hate, jack white nerds alert, overly flirty Owen, socially awkward Curt, this was supposed to be nice and fun but oh well you know Curt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorianO/pseuds/LorianO
Summary: “So, Curt, when are we going to address the fact that this Owen guy has a crush on you?”





	Explosive Blunderbuss – coffeeshop AU

**Author's Note:**

> I read somewhere that every fandom needed a coffe shop AU, so of course this wouldn't leave my head until I wrote it.  
> So, here's my take on a coffee shop AU turned Jack White nerds AU turned record store AU turned existential crisis AU (oh wait that's no AU), because apparently I can't do just light and fun and there has to be some #drama.

“So, Curt, when are we going to address the fact that this Owen guy has a crush on you?”  
“What? What are you talking about? No one has a crush on me.”

Tatiana snorts and rolls her eyes, not stopping her cleaning of the coffee machine.

“You may be totally oblivious to it, darling, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”  
“I’m not oblivious! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I would know if someone had a crush on me, right?”

Tatiana laughs as Curt starts taking the newly delivered boxes into the reserve.

“Okay, Barb,” she asks, turning toward the almost empty room. “Be honest: is Curt able to notice when someone has a crush on him.”

Without looking up nor stopping from cleaning the table, the blond girl answers:

“Definitely not.”

Curt comes out of the reserve, wiping his empty hands on his apron. At that time, in the middle of the morning, the coffee shop is almost empty: there’s only two young girls near the window, sipping on a fairy latte – a house special, with sparkles.

“Owen does _not_ have a crush on me,” mumbles Curt. “He’s flirty with everyone.”  
“That he is,” concedes Tatiana. “ _But_ his flirt is more subtle and nicer with you. And he always settles his deliveries with you when he can, and when you’re busy, he waits for you to be done just to have a word.”  
“Also,” adds Barb as she puts a tray of dirty cups on the counter, “he never comes on days you’re not working.”  
“And when that does happen, he _always_ asks about you. And the way he smiles at you, always trying to catch your eyes, doesn’t lie.”

Curt passes his hand through his hair and sighs, avoiding both of his colleagues’ look.

“Yeah, but even _if_ he has a crush on me, which still is highly unlikely, by the way, what makes you think that _I_ ’m interested?”

Barb and Tatiana exchange a look, and Tatiana starts to answer.

“You are never able to form a coherent sentence when talking to him.”  
“Or to look at him in the eyes for too long.”  
“And you always check the clock for like half an hour before his arrivals on days he has deliveries scheduled."  
“And you laugh at his lamest jokes.”  
“Also you check out his butt, like, all the time.”  
“I do not—”  
“Yes you do,” they both interrupt in one voice.

Curt crosses his arms and leans his back against the counter, a frown over his eyes.

“You should ask him out,” says Barb.  
“I won’t do that!”  
“Why not?” says Tatiana.  
“I’m just… romance isn’t my think, okay?”

Tatiana snorts.

“Oh, darling Curt. Romance is not _my_ thing, but it’s definitely yours.”  
“True,” seconds Barb. “I’ve only been working here for a year and yet I totally approve.”  
“When have you ever seen me date, uh?”  
“Oh, Curt,” says Tatiana, putting a hand on his. “The only thing you’re worse at than hiding your crushes is noticing when someone has a crush on you.”  
“Okay, name, one. And Terrible Tim doesn't count.”  
“Well, I don’t know his name, but there was this PhD student, a few months ago, who came every day to write his thesis. You know, the one with the vanilla mocha and the hipster glasses?”  
“And Ryan, who worked here for three weeks until he found a better paid job.”  
“Yeah, shame you never asked his number. You two had really hit it off. But when he left, in came Brad, the redhead, who worked next door and took a triple espresso every damn morning.”  
“Yeah, he had a pretty smile. And how about—” Barb stops herself, hiding a laugh in her hand. “You know,” she giggles again, “Ze one wiz ze lisp.”

Tatiana starts laughing too.

“Remember how he always ordered… ‘some donutz’?”

They both explode in laughter.

“Hey, Arthur was cute!” protests Curt.  
“Yes he was, dear,” answers Tatiana, halfway through tears. “I wonder why he stopped coming."  
“Well, I don’t”, mumbles Curt with a suggestive look at both of them.  
“Oh, come on, Curt. We’re just teasing you,” says Barb with a push on his arm.  
“Yeah, point is: you’re very much a romance person, and very, very much into the British swagger, flashing smile and smooth flirtiness of our dear delivery guy, Owen.”

Leaning over the counter, she bats her lashes at Curt, sending Barb into another laughing fit.

“Can I have a logical explanation on why none of you is working?”

They all jump and straighten themselves.

“Hi, Cynthia! It’s a slow morning,” answers Tatiana.

Their boss is not a very impressive woman in term of size, but they’ve all seen her temper and all fear her.

“Slow or not, there’s always things to do.”

They roll their eyes in the most discreet way possible – it’s always the same, with Cynthia: she can’t stand not seeing them busy.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a delivery coming?”  
“It’s already in storage,” answers Curt.  
“Oh no, I missed Owen? What a shame. He’s always so lovely.”

Barb and Tatiana exchange a look, before turning toward Curt, who pretends not to notice.

“Anyway,” claps Cynthia, “get back to work, I’m not paying you to daydream, and you can only gossip when I’m here. Go on, move!”

With more or less good will, they all start walking toward a table, the counter or the cupboard as Cynthia opens the door to her office.

“Careful, Curt: you’ve got competition,” whispers Tatiana in his ear as she passes by him.

Curt sighs. He doesn’t believe that Cynthia’s affection for Owen is anything more than fondness – she could be his mother, after all –, but he doesn’t believe either that Owen could have any kind of interest in him other than professional. Sure, he’s always nice to him – but, after all, he’s always nice to everyone; even to Cynthia. He must be, after all, the only person that Curt has ever seen flirting with her.

Owen has been making deliveries to them for almost four months now and, true, he only had to smile once for Curt to fall deep into the mushy love pit. It doesn’t help that he’s handsome, charming, funny, has a dreamy English accent, a _very_ good-looking face – and silhouette –, smells good, and always has smart conversation.

Curt on the other hand… talk, small or big, has never been his thing, his look is nothing but common, his accent the most boring American, and he probably smells like coffee or sweat – or a mix of both. Despite what Tatiana says, there is _no way_ Owen would ever be interested in him. Curt is neither smart nor funny, especially in front of him. So Owen, _Dashing Owen_ , as Curt likes to call him, has absolutely no reason to show any interest for poor, old, boring Curt and his inability to communicate.

But, somehow, he can’t help but hope. Because Tatiana, though she has no interest for romance for herself, has always proved, in the six years they’ve been friends, particularly skilled in guessing other people interests and predicting everyone’s love life. That is probably the product of her deep empathy, good observation skills and her taste for gossip. So, when she says that Owen has a crush on Curt, there’s a tiny part of him that, _maybe_ , wants to believe her.

 

***

 

“Hello, my favorites baristas! How are you feeling today? The sunshine is so lovely, isn’t it? But not as bright as your smile, Tati.”  
“Nice to see you too Owen. You talk is as sweet as the frappuccino I served this morning, and by that, I mean disgusting.”

Owen drops his package on the counter and puts his hand on his heart, theatrical as always..

“Oh, Tati. It’s always a pleasure to compliment you.”  
“Speak for yourself.”  
“You break my heart. Every. Single. Day. Do you know that?”  
“I do. Because you tell me. Every. Single. Day. What do you have for us today? Only this one?”  
“You’re dreaming, love. I’ve got eleven more in the truck. Care to give me a hand?”  
“I can’t, I hurt my back at my krav-maga class yesterday. But I’m sure Curt will be delighted to. Right, Curt?”

Curt abruptly raises his head from where he was busy – pretending to be – at the register and smiles – tries to – at Owen.

“Sure. I don’t do krav-Maga.”

Owen smiles back.

“Yeah, you’re a softy, like me. This shit is for badasses like Tati. Guys like us don’t stand a chance against her.”  
“No you don’t,” she deadpans. “And you’d better go fetch those boxes before the one person who does gets here.”  
“Cynthia does krav-maga?”  
“Cynthia doesn’t need krav-maga to out-badass all of us,” answers Barb, coming from behind Owen.  
“True. How you doin’, Barb? Invented something cool, lately?”  
“I did make a chocolate cake with caramel and apple filling two days ago. Does it count?”  
“Give me a slice and I’ll tell you.”  
“So do you need help with those boxes?” interrupts Curt when Barb starts giggling.  
“Yeah, right, the boxes. Let’s go! I’m parked right in front.”

Curt follows him out of the shop with a heavy heart. Of course Owen doesn’t have a crush on him. Owen flirts with everyone, cares about everyone – or is pretty good at pretending –, and doesn’t give him anymore attention than he gives everyone else. Curt shouldn’t have listened to Tati. He shouldn’t have let himself hope for… for whatever he thought this was.

“You okay, man?” asks Owen while opening the back of his truck. “You look kinda gloomy.”

Yeah, how’s that for flirting? Tatiana got the bright smile, Barb the cool inventions, and him, the gloomy look.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.  
“You sure?”  
“Just… a busy week.”

Owen stares at him a few seconds before taking the first couple of boxes.

“Okay. Here, take that.”

He puts them in Curt’s extended arms, briefly brushing his fingers with his own.

“Tell me if it’s too heavy.”  
“It’s okay.”

He heads back inside. Barb is taking the orders from the growing line of customers as Tatiana makes them. He drops the boxes next to her.

“What’s up with your bullshit? Your krav-maga class is on Thursday.”  
“And you can thank me later for giving you some alone time with Owen. Go back outside! Quick! Before Cynthia sees you’re not helping.”

Curt sighs and rolls his eyes, but does as she says. She is wrong, but she did it with the best intentions.  
Also, he has never been able to stay mad at her.  
Outside, Owen takes two more boxes out of his truck.

“Hey, you know what? My roomate’s is a band, and tonight they’re playing at The Sloviskian. You know that bar? It’s near the new library. Anyway, they play some kind of cheerful pop-rock, and since you seem like you could use some fun time to forget your busy week, maybe you’d like to come? Unless you’ve already got plans, of course.”

Owen looks almost… hesitant. Like Curt’s answer matters.

But Curt’s not sure what this all is, and the boxes are getting heavier in his arms, so he says: “I don’t have plans.”

Owen’s smile is not as wide and confident as his usual one, but somehow, Curt finds it brighter; purer.

“Cool. So you’ll come?”  
“I don’t know. I… I need to take that inside.”  
“Oh, yeah, sure, sorry. I’m following you.”

They empty the rest of the truck in silence – _awkward_ silence, if you ask Curt – and, when they sign the delivery receipt, Owen asks:

“So I’ll see you tonight?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Steve’s band plays at nine. The music is okay, but the beer is cheap. I promise it’ll be fun.”

There it is, again, _that_ smile.

So Curt says: “I’ll try.”

“Great! See you tonight, then. Barb, Tatiana, you ladies have an amazing day, and I’ll see you on Friday! Pass my love to Cynthia.”

He walks backward toward the door, raising his thumbs at them until he bumps into a customer and has to turn to apologize. Curt watches until the truck is gone.

“What did he mean by ‘see you tonight’?” asks Tatiana behind his ear, making him jump. “Do you guys have a date?”  
“It’s not a date, okay?” he sighs. “It’s just… he said I looked _gloomy_ , and that his roomate’s band was playing in a bar tonight and it might cheer me up.”  
“So this is a date,” she affirms, foaming some milk.  
“Did you hear what I just said? He said I was gloomy. Is that how you ask someone on a date?”  
“He also said that he wanted to cheer you up, and proposed to see you outside of work. It’s definitely a date. Right, Barb?”  
“Yup”, she answers as she give a credit card ticket to a customer. “Definitely a date. Here it is, sir, you can wait right here and my colleague will call you when your order is ready. Hi m’am, what will it be for you?”  
“I don’t even know if I’ll go. I have to catch up on TV shows, and—”  
“Oh no, Curt, you’re going. I don’t wanna see a reboot of the Frank Fiasco. I’ll take you to the bar myself if I have to, but you’re going. Your TV shows can wait, and your cat’s not gonna miss you. _Dashing Owen_ asked you on a date, and you’re not gonna bail out.”

 

***

 

Though Owen keeps telling himself that he’s totally not checking the door every two seconds, the truth is that it’s precisely the reason he chose this seat. It’s almost fifteen past nine, Steve’s band is running late – as usual –, and Owen’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach that Curt won’t show up. He didn’t say he’d come, after all. Maybe bars aren’t Curt’s thing. Maybe bands are not Curt’s thing. Maybe beer is not Curt’s thing.  
Maybe _Owen_ is not Curt thing.  
And yet, every time he sees the door moving out of the corner of his eye, he keeps looking – he keeps _hoping_.  
So when the door opens – _again_ – and he looks up, thinking he’ll find one of the smokers that went out earlier, but when Curt’s silhouette appears on the threshold, he feels both surprised and relieved.  
Curt is wearing a very casual jean and tee-shirt, but somehow, without his apron, he looks different; shyer – _sexier_. He still has that one strand of dark hair that won’t stay in place and falls on his forehead; the one Owen keeps wanting to put back where it belongs. He seems kind of lost, looking around him to assess his surroundings – to find Owen?  
Owen gets up with his beer in one hand and, apologizing to his group of friends, carves a way through the crowd to him. He can’t stop a smile from spreading on his lips.

“Hey, Curt! You came!”

He’s not sure what the proper greeting move is in this type of situation, so he decides to go all-in with a quick one-armed hug. Curt barely has time to hug him back before he pulls away.

Curt then pushes his hands in his pockets and, with a nod to the musicians setting things up on the stage, asks: “Did I miss the show?”  
Owen quickly turns toward the stage before waving Curt’s concerns away. “Nah. They’re just late, as usual. In fact, you might be just in time. Can I get you anything to drink?”

Without waiting for an answer, he starts to make it to the bar, hoping Curt follows.

“So, how are you doing? Busy day at work?”

Somehow, he feels compelled to fill the verbal space as much as he can – in fear, maybe, that Curt won’t have anything to say to him. Probably because he’s nervous, too: he has always been a very talkative person – and that was not always said to him as a compliment –, but he’s even more so when he feels like the situation escapes him; as if, somehow, words will help him regain control over things. Most of the time, they don’t – and some of the time, they even make it worse –, but at least he feels better when he _does_ something.

“It was okay. I’ve seen worse.”

Curt, on the other hand, has never been much of a talker – as far as Owen knows. True, he’s only seen him at work, but when Tatiana always has a quick comeback, and Barb a nice word, but Curt… Curt mainly mumbles and talks in short sentences. Owen has tried to make him talk. He has asked him questions about work, about coffee, hell, even about the weather. But he has never been able to elicit anything more than a few syllabs as an answer.  
Maybe Curt just doesn’t like talking to him.  
Maybe he’s one of these people that mean _talkative_ as an insult.  
But he’s here. He came.  
So maybe not.

“What do you drink?” asks Owen with his elbows on the counter.  
“What beer do they have?” answers Curt while eying the menu.

Owen takes the opportunity to study his focused profile. Nose vaguely scrunched, mouth vaguely pinched, eyebrows vaguely frowned. And, always, that strand of hair on his forehead.

He clearly remembers the first time he saw Curt. It was four months ago, during his first delivery at Café’Inn. Tatiana had been the first one he met, the one who signed his receipt and greeted him with her own brand of distant kindness, but Curt had been the one who caught his eye. Not because he was particularly handsome – even if he is –, or because he was doing anything spectacular. No, he was just giving a couple their cups of coffee, and their young kid was holding out his hands toward the lollipops next to the register. So Curt took one, and just gave it to the girl. It was a small gesture, and the parents had probably paid for the candy, but the smile he did it with was… breathtaking. Bright. Blinding. Owen hasn’t yet found the proper word to describe it, but he knows he hasn’t been able to forget it. It was filled with so much kindness, it shone like a ray of sunshine and brought warmth to the hearts of everyone who saw it – at least, it brought warmth to Owen’s heart.  
That smile was the reason he started taking an interest in Curt: because he hoped to see it again. And he did, a few times. But he also learned to like other aspects of Curt: his lose strand of hair. His distant and attentive look. His humor, sometimes, when he was lucky enough to witness it. His ability to focus – like right now.

And he wants to know more. He wants to know who’s behind that smile, and that look, underneath those short sentences and that _damn_ strand of hair.  
That’s what he hopes to find out tonight.

A few minutes later, they both have a cold glass in hand when someone taps the mike and some larsen in the amps pierces everyone’s ears. Curt winces and Owen adds that new expression to the list of the ones he doesn’t want to forget.

“Sorry about that, says a woman leaning into the microphone. Please make some noise for our guests tonight, Chaos Talking!”

Applause fills the room as Owen leans toward Curt.

“See? Right on time.”

Curt smiles back at him, and Owen thinks that, whatever happens, it was all worth it.

 

***

 

After the show, they make their way to the bar for another round of drinks, and Owen asks:

“So, what did you think of them?”

Curt shrugs – he seems more relaxed than earlier.

“They have a good energy, and some catchy songs. And a good dynamic on stage.”  
“Yeah? Tell Steve, he’ll be happy to hear it. I must admit I’m not the biggest fan of their music, but hey, he’s my pal, so I gotta support him.”  
“What kind of music do you like?”

That must be the first time Curt has asked him a direct question, so Owen needs a few seconds before he answers.

“Well… I’m more into rock than pop, so I prefer stuffs with a little more grit. Like, you know, I’m a huge White Stripes fan? That kind of dirty, bluesy stuff.”  
Curt half smiles. “More of a duo person than a trio person, then, uh? Me too.”

Owen smiles back and takes out his wallet as the barman comes back with their drinks.

“That one’s on me.”

Curt looks perplexed, but shrugs and takes his drink.

“Thanks, then.”  
“You’ll pay for the next one.”  
“Okay.” He takes a sip, then asks: “Do you know Deap Vally? They’re no monument like the White Stripes, but they’re a pretty good rock duo and, you know, since they split up, we gotta make do.”

Owen smiles. His hunch about Curt was right: someone who talks like that about the White Stripes can’t be that bad.

Truth be told, he wouldn’t have pinned Curt as a music fan and rock enthusiast, but he must admit he doesn’t know much about the guy, anyway. The way Curt talk with enthusiasm and passion about his favorite bands, concert anecdotes, the glory of first records and the curse of third ones, is proof that he’s more than a silent guy serving coffee. Owen never doubted that, of course, but finding out what makes him get out of his shell is a delight – especially when it’s something they share.

They are in the middle of an argument over which one of Jack White’s solo records is the best – Owen would have thought Curt was a _Blunderbuss_ guy, like him, but turns out he’s more _Boarding House Reach_ , surprisingly – when Steve comes and interrupts them, asking them what they thought of the show.

After providing a brief answer, Curt shuts up completely. The passionate music nerd is gone, replaced by the silent, slightly intimidating dude Curt seems to be on his bad days. He totally retreats himself from the conversation and, somehow, Owen feels hurt. He shortens as much as possible the conversation with Steve, who then moves on to another group of people. But, as soon as he’s gone, Curt settles his glass on the counter and says:

“I think I’m gonna go. I gotta open the shop tomorrow.”  
“Oh. Okay. Sorry I kept you up so late.”

Curt shakes his head and smile.

“Don’t worry. That was fun.” Then, after pinching his lips, staring at Owen, he adds: “Thanks for inviting me.”  
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

He hopes Curt enjoyed more than the show.

“Well. Good night, then.”

Curt has the look of someone who doesn’t know how to take his leave and yet is itching to go, so Owen uses the same strategy as when he arrived and pulls him in for a hug. This times, he lingers a little longer, and Curt hugs him back with more conviction.

“Good night, man,” he whispers against his hair.

When they detach, Curt smiles sheepishly and, after an awkward wave of the hand, retracts toward the door.  
Owen’s not sure if he imagined the slight flush on his cheeks.

 

***

 

“Did you go to a gay bar?”  
“No.”  
“Are you sure? Because you might have thought that it was a regular bar, but—”  
“I know what a gay bar looks like, Tati, and it wasn’t one,” sighs Curt.  
“Dashing Owen took you to a gay bar?!” asks Barb.  
“It wasn’t a gay bar, it was a regular bar, and since when do we call him ‘Dashing Owen’?”  
“Since _you_ started calling him Dashing Owen,” answers Tatiana. “We’re just following your lead. So what was this bar like? Except, you know, _not gay_?”

Curt shrugs.

“It was a bar.”  
“And what did you _do_ , at that bar?”  
“We talked.”  
“Urg, Curt, you’re so annoying!” sighs Tatiana. “What’s the point of you having a date if you don’t tell us anything about it?”  
“Hey, go have dates yourself if you want to know what happens in them.”  
“Not interested.”  
“Okay, but did you kiss?”  
“Or more, did you take him home? Did _he_ take you home?”  
“No, no, and no.”  
“Uuuuuurg!”  
“But what did you do, then?” insists Barb.  
“Please tell us you didn’t chicken out and that you actually _went_.”  
“I went! I _swear_ ,” he adds when he sees their scowls. “I went to the bar, we listened to his friend’s band, we talked about music _and_ I even bought him a couple of beers.”  
“Tell me you didn’t spill all of your Jack White adoration on him.”

Curt smiles smugly.

“To be fair, he did spill it on me first.”  
“God, I _so_ wish this sentence wasn’t about Jack White,” sighs Barb.

Tatiana high-fives her over the bar.

“At least you fit together on that point.”  
“And I _wish_ we’d learned how you fit together on _some other point_.”

Another high-five.

“And after sharing your obsession for Jack White, what did you do?”  
“I left.”  
“You _what_?”  
“I left! I had to open up this morning!”

Tatiana slaps a hand on her forehead.

“Oh. My. God, Curt. I am so sorry to tell you that but you are. So. Romantically. Hopeless.”  
“I’m not!”

She stares at him, and finally says:

“Okay, let’s sum it up: the guy you’ve been drooling on for _months_ asks you on a date, you go there and find common grounds in taste and conversation, _and then_ , instead of surfing the wave and using it to get to a _deeper_ relationship, you just… leave. Not only is that terribly _boring_ , but that is, most of all, _just plain wrong_.”

Curt stays silent a few seconds, and eventually answers.

“We did hug.”

Both girls let out an exclamation of joy.

“Oh my god!” squeals Barb. “Who hugged who? When? For how long?”  
“Was it a casual hug or an intimate hug?”  
“Does he smell good?”  
“He hugged me, when I arrived and when I left, for just a couple of seconds, and it was… casual?”  
“See that interrogative tone?” says Tatiana to Barb while pointing at Curt. “That means it was _intimate_.”

Curt pushes away the strand of hair falling on his forehead.

“It was not!”  
“And now he’s flushing,” comments Barb. “Definitely intimate.”  
“Maybe we _can_ actually makes something out of you. When do you see him again?”  
“Friday?”

All smile disappear from Tatiana’s face.

“Do you mean when he comes here to make his delivery?” she asks very sternly.  
“Yeah.”  
“Uuuuuuuuuuurg. I take back everything I just said. You are hopeless and we are never gonna make anything out of you.”

 

***

 

“Good morning, lovelies! Wow, busy day, today! I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

Owen’s smile is as bright as always, and Curt briefly looks at it before turning back to his customer. But he barely has time to open his mouth before Tatiana pushes him out of the way and says loudly:

“Hi, Owen! See about everything with Curt, we’re all busy over here. But we can handle it! Take all the time you need.”

Curt smiles sheepishly when he stumbles in front of Owen, victim of Tatiana’s strength.

“Hi. How are you?”

He still feels awkward and self-conscious in Owen’s presence, but the night at the bar helped him feel a bit more relaxed.

“Good, and you? Waking up wasn’t too hard, the other day?”

Curt shrugs. Truth is, he didn’t get enough sleep that night, but not because of his early alarm.

“I managed.”  
Elbows on the counter, Owen says: “You do look less gloomy, anyway.”  
“Thanks?”

Owen laughs.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m glad you had fun.”  
“I did.”  
“Thanks.”

Maybe it could stop there. Maybe it could just be a fun night, and that’s all, they both go back to a work relationship. Curt feels this turning point, at that precise moment. He is under the impression that, if says nothing more, if he stops at these “thanks”, everything will go back to normal. He’ll be coffee guy Curt, and Owen will be Dashing Owen, living in those parallel universes that intersect twice a week during these deliveries. It could be for the best. It could save him the heartbreak and the effort of involving himself into any kind of fantasy that won’t ever come to life, and he could go back to harmless daydreaming and satisfy himself with this form of friendship.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks before he can overthink it. “I… there’s this evening event at my favorite record store, with drinks and music and discount of records, and I was planning on going, so…”

False. He wasn’t planning on going. These kind of events attract people, and he prefers the place more quiet.  
But Owen’s smile widens.

“That sounds great! At what time do you finish your day?”  
“We close at 8. The event ends around 9. Maybe we could… meet there? And grab some food after?”  
“Sounds like a plan.”

Owen snatches Curt’s notepad from the top pocket of his apron and scribbles on the first page before sliding it back to him on the bar.

“Here’s my number. Text me the address, okay?”

Curt feels like he’s hyperventilating.

“Okay.”  
“Great! Now, I need you to sign this delivery receipt. I’ve only got nine boxes for you today.”

 

***

 

“Is it me or did you ask _Dashing Owen_ on a date?”  
“I did.”  
“What pushed you to do that?”  
“It… I figured I kinda had to.”  
“And he did say yes?”  
“He did.”  
“Curt. I’ve never been more proud of you.”  
“Remember when that kid almost choked and I had to give him first aid?”  
“ _Never_.”

 

***

 

This time, Curt takes the first step to hug him when he arrives in front of the record store, where Owen has been waiting for five minutes.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, a bit out of breath. “Traffic was hell.”

Owen appreciates the hug more than he should for something that short but, truth be told, after the way Curt left on the other night, he didn’t really hope to get more out of him. And the – not subtle at all – way with which Tatiana pushed Curt onto him this morning made him think that, maybe, Curt wasn’t too happy of the situation. He was almost fine with it. Accepting it wouldn’t go any further, stop trying and move on.

Until Curt proposed that date. Because it is a date, right? Browsing a record store and having dinner: how could it not be a date? The other night at the bar was in a grey area, and could pass as a friendly invite, something that could easily be dismissed as _not a date_ , but this? What could be more intimate than shuffling through record together?

Okay, a couple thing could. But not much.

“That’s okay, I arrived not long ago. Shall we go in?”

The shop has a few customers, but less than what Owen would have expected. Curt briefly hugs and exchanges a few words with the owner, then takes Owen in the depth of the shop.  
The place is not big, but records fill all of the space and Curt and Owen sometimes have to sneak around customers. It smells like fresh wood, warmth and cardboard.

“Nice place,” comments Owen, eyeing the concert posters on the walls. “My usual record shop closed like a year ago and I haven’t found a new one yet, but this one might just be it. I kinda missed record digging.”

Curt smiles as he starts flipping through a crate.

“It’s a nice shop. I love the atmosphere.”

Owen makes his was through the records next to him.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Steve took me to his own favorite record store a couple of time, but… I didn’t feel it, you know? It’s like, okay, the owners are nice, and they have a good selection, but, hmmm, I don’t quite fit there.”  
“Yeah, I understand. Took me a bit of time to find this one. Hey, since you’re a duo guy, you’re familiar with that band?”

Curt holds out a Shovels & Ropes record, and Owen takes it and flips it, looking at the tracklist.

“Nope. What do they sound like?”

 

***

 

After they’ve picked some records, they go grab a beer and exchange a few words with the owner, Alan, a bearded and tattooed man in his thirties. Owen somehow feels delighted when Curt introduces him as “my friend Owen, a fellow Jack White fan” and tries to get him involved in the conversation. They talk about the records they’re buying – Owen blindly took the Shovels & Ropes one after Curt’s description – and the state of independent record stores before finally paying and letting Alan closes shop – they’re the last customers.

“Thanks for taking me here. I think you just introduced me to my new favorite record store.”

Curt laughs quietly.

“This kind of place deserves more fame.”  
“Yeah. I mean, I knew this line of business wasn’t easy, but I didn’t imagine it was that hard.”  
“The miracles of technology don’t bring miracles to everyone.”

Once again, Owen notices how much more relaxed and confident Curt seems when he’s in his comfort zone. Talking about music, bringing Owen to places he knows, doing things he’s used to doing. Owen finds him even more attractive when he’s like that. He also hopes that, maybe, one day, he will be part of Curt’s comfort zone as well.

“Alan looks like an interesting dude, too. You seem to know him well.”

He has noted how Curt hugged him naturally to say hello and goodbye, and must admit he felt a twinge of jealousy at that sight. How did they get so close? What made Curt be comfortable with him?

“I spend more time and more money than I should in this shop,” laughs Curt. “And we go to the same concerts and have a couple of friends in common. He’s a _Lazaretto_ guy, though.”

Owen winces and, almost without thinking, says:

“I don’t think I could date a _Lazaretto_ person.”

But Curt answers without batting an eye.

“I don’t know. Depends on how he defends it.”

_He_. Maybe Owen wasn’t so wrong.

“Can you _really_ defend _Lazaretto_?”

Curt shrugs.

“ _Would you fight for my love_.”  
“What?” tenses Owen.  
“The song. _Would you fight for my love_. I’d defend that.”  
Owen lets out an unsettled laugh. “Yeah. Right. Me too.”

What was he hoping for, exactly?

“You’re hungry?” asks Curt. “I know a good Japanese place close from here. We can order some take-out and go in a park or something?”

The sun has already set, but the idea of eating in the grass next to Curt on that warm summer night, enjoying the last of the daylight, seems very romantic to Owen.

 

***

 

Half and hour later, they’re sitting on a bench on the top of a hill, watching the city lights turn on and the sky turn dark. It’s not quite the perfect location Owen had pictured in his mind, with those teenagers yelling next to them and the sun completely gone, but they’re together, they have boxes of sushi and maki, and Curt hasn’t closed up yet. His smiles go up to his eyes, and he talks more and more, answering Owen’s questions, asking his own, musing further than Owen would have expected from the coffee guy he met during work.

“How did you end up working at Café’Inn?” he asks at some point.

Curt shrugs. The boxes are empty, and the night has fallen. The nearest lamppost is meters away, and Owen can only make up the silhouette of his face and body.

“I needed a job. Tati already worked there, and she told me they were looking for someone, so I applied, and I got the job. Turns out you don’t need a degree in physics to make coffee.”

He laughs a humorless laugh, arms spread on the back of the bench, eyes lost in the city silhouetted by moonlight. There’s some sadness in his looks, accentuated by that rebel strand of hair, always suspended over his forehead.

“What would have been your dream job?”  
“I don’t know. I really liked physics, especially astrophysics, and I would have liked to do a master degrees, maybe a PhD, but, you know, these things cost money. And, besides, I’m not like Barb, who has a thousands ideas a minute and is always experimenting, or like Tati who dances all the time. I don’t… I don’t have a passion.”  
“What about music?”  
“I don’t play. And, besides, that’s not like I can make money out of it. You heard Alan earlier. Even if I did, like, open a record store, which would be kinda the only thing I could know how to do, it’s not like it pays. And, sadly, no one wants to give me money for all of that Jack White’s knowledge,” he concludes, turning toward Owen with a half-hearted smile.  
“And why don’t you go back for a masters, now that you’ve got money?”

Again, Curt shrugs and looks away.

“It’s been years. I’ve forgotten everything. What would be the point? Besides, I was just an average student. It’s not like it’s a waste for the world or anything.”  
“But is it a waste for you?”

Curt sighs, then shifts and puts his elbows on his knees, turning his head toward Owen with a sad smile.

“Listen, Owen, I appreciate that you’re trying to… cheer me up, or whatever, but I’m no catch. I’m just a barista, who happens to have some knowledge on blues-rock music and studied physics in a previous life or something. I’m not —” he waves his hand. “I’m not high profile, or an intellectual, or whatever. Hell, I don’t even know how to talk to people.”

He nervously slides his hand through his hair, trying to push back his loose strand, which falls back instantly.

“And I’m just a delivery guy!” retorts Owen, mimicking his position. “I didn’t even go to college, and the best paid job I had was waiter in Vegas for a summer – and yes, it sucked. I don’t… I don’t have a passion either. I’m not like my roommate Steve, who can play like twelve different instruments. I work for the pay, and when I’m done, I go home and listen to music or watch a movie or hang out with friends. My dream job would have been actor, but you know, I was too lazy to get too much into it. I’m no catch, either, man.”  
“But you’re great with people,” answers Curt bitterly. “Everyone loves you. You always know what to say to whom, and you always seem so at ease. It’s… you’re so confident.”

It’s Owen’s turn to laugh bitterly.

“Don’t we all have to be? I’m no intellectual or high-profile either, Curt. I’m just… me.”

Curt turns to face him and a small smile spreads on his face.

“You’re _Dashing Owen_.”  
“I’m what?” laughs Owen.  
“Dashing Owen. That’s what we’ve… I’ve been calling you. With your smile and your flirt and your cheerfulness.” Again, he runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t…” He looks at the outline of the city. “It’s just… You _are_ dashing. Even Cynthia likes you. Even Tati likes you! You just have to smile, and…”

Owen reaches with his hand and brushes back that strand of hair that has obsessed him for the past few months.

“You are dashing too, Curt,” he whispers as Curt looks at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Slowly, Curt nods, and Owen leans toward him as Curt straightens up to meet him halfway. Their lips join over the empty food containers and the screams of the teenagers, but they’re not conscious of any of that. They’re only anchored in the present by each other’s body heat, by the taste of their mouth and the press of their hands. At first, they’re careful, exploring with the tips of their tongue and fingers, but soon the boxes between them fall to the ground without them realizing and soon they’re all over each other, wanting to touch and to feel as much as possible. It’s like a dam breaking, as if anything that blocked them has melting in the mixing of their saliva. Owen’s hands run through this hair he has dreamed so much about messing up, and he feels Curt’s on his neck and back, grounding him in the here and now.

 

***

 

“Barb, you owe me twenty bucks!”

Barb turns toward Curt, who just arrived, and swears.

“What did you bet on, this time?” he asks.  
“You doing a walk of shame,” answers Tatiana.  
He stops dead in his tracks and turns back toward the door. “Okay, I’m leaving.”  
“Curt Mega, if your coworkers’ bets on your sex life are enough to make you quit, I should never have hired you in the first place.”

Curt turns back to face Cynthia who, fists on her hips, stands in front of the open door of her office.

“Hi, Cynthia,” he says sheepishly.  
“And ladies, next time you’re having that kind of bet, please don’t forget to invite me. I’d like to chip in.”  
“Yes, Cynthia.”  
“So, now, who is that mysterious fella Curt did not have sex with?”  
“Why do all of you assume that I didn’t have sex?”  
“Well, did you?” asks Tatiana sternly.  
“No,” groans Curt.  
“See? That’s what I told Barb: your last one night stand was Terrible Tim, and it was years ago. But, I don’t know why, Barb still has too much faith in you and thought you’d come back wearing last night clothes.”  
“Owen is not a one night stand,” mumbles Curt.  
“Owen, as in _Dashing Owen_?” asks Cynthia, surprised.  
“Does _everyone_ calls him like that?” moans Curt, hiding his face in his hands.  
“I thought we did, yes,” says Cynthia. “But really? Good job, Curt. If I were younger, I would have gone for it myself. He’s a strapping young man. Okay, girls and boy, I’ve got some accounting to do, so you can gossip all you want, but we open in five, so get the work done. Oh, and Tatiana, Barb? Please report to me all the information on Curt and his hot date.”  
“We’re on it!” answers Barb enthusiastically.

When the door to Cynthia’s office is closed, Tatiana leans forward and asks:

“So, you didn’t have sex, but did anything happen?”  
“He bought the Shovels & Ropes record I recommended.”  
“Anything _interesting for the rest of us peasants_ , Curt.”

Curt crosses his arms and raises his eyes, as if thinking carefully.

“Well, he liked the record store, and we had dinner in a park, and…”  
“And?” insist his colleagues, virtually on the edge of their seats.

Curt has a smug smile as he looks at them.

“And we kissed.”

Tatiana opens her mouth, straightens up, puts her hand on her heart and says:

“I never thought I’d live long enough to hear you say that.”  
“Hey! Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
“But was it a real kiss?” asks Barb. “As in, cinema real, with butterflies in your stomach and a tension in your chest that leaves your breathless? Or, you know, just a goodbye kiss?”  
“It was real,” says Curt, a smile on his lips.

_But not movie real_ , he adds in his mind. Blunderbuss _real_. I’m shakin’ _real_. Ever since last night, he’s stuck with this song in his head. _“When you touch my hand and talk sweet talk, I got a knocking in my knees and a wobble in my walk.”_

“Aaaaaw,” squeal both girls.  
“And please tell me this time you’ve actually made plan to see him again,” adds Tatiana.  
“As a matter of fact, he offered to cook me dinner tonight.”  
“Somebody’s gonna get laiiiiiiiiiiiid,” sings Barb.

 

***

 

Owen watches Curt carefully as they eat. Does he like it? Is he happy to be here? Does he like the music? Owen did put a Barr Brothers record to create a comfy mood, but he’s not sure Curt appreciates it. In fact, Curt looks mostly tired and embarrassed to be here, and doesn’t say much. The result of an exhausting week? The regret of accepting to come? Owen does most of the conversation, out of habit as much as of anxiety. But, truth is, he doesn’t even know if he should keep going. Maybe Curt feels like last night was a mistake? He would have said so before coming, if he did, right?

And, he must admit, he has never quite known what to say to someone he just started dating (probably). They don’t know each other well enough to have habits and, at the same time, putting your tongue in someone else’s mouth is supposed to give you some sort of intimacy. He doesn’t know the lines he can and can’t cross, what he can ask, what he can expect; how much can they touch each other? How much can they tell each other?

Besides, Curt’s phone keep buzzing in his jacket’s pocket. Curt doesn’t look at it but, for Owen, it adds to the tension of the moment. Everything: Curt’s seemingly brooding mood, the inherent pressure of the situation, the regular sound of the phone, make the moment, supposed to be pleasant, almost unbearable. Even the music isn’t soothing anymore.

“You can check your phone, you know,” eventually says Owen.  
Curt shrugs. “It’s just Tati.”  
“Maybe it’s important.”  
Curt laughs, playing with his food. “Trust me, it’s not.”  
“How can you be so sure?”

Curt taps his fork on the edge of the plate, as if considering what to say, and his tongue flicks on his lips as he puts the fork down.

“Tati is… she probably started shipping us before any of us even thought about it.”

Owen meets Curt’s sparkling eyes and laughs.

“I noticed her kinda throwing you at me a couple of time, but I didn’t know if it was your doing or hers.”  
Curt shrugs with a smile. “She tends to think that she knows better than me what’s good for me. And, if I’m being completely honest, she kinda does.”

He seems more relaxed, now. He’s smiling up to his eyes, and his moves bear less tension. He picks his fork up and starts eating again.

“These are probably texts filled with advices on what to do and how to behave and reminders to keep her updated,” he adds.  
“I guess she… knows, then.”  
Curt huffs. “Why do you think I look so tired?”  
“I just thought you had a hard work’s week.”  
“If only.” He sighs and slightly shakes his head. “I love Tati and Barb, but when the both of them agree on something, they can be exhausting.”  
“Especially if the ‘something’ is ‘tormenting you’?”  
Curt laughs. “Yeah. Exactly.” He sighs again, puts down his fork and, holding Owen’s gaze, says: “I’m sorry. I… I barely even talked since I got here.”  
“That’s okay. I talk enough for two,” says Owen – but, deep inside, he feels relieved.  
Curt shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to. I mean, talking is not really my thing, but I can… I _should_ make an effort. That’s probably in one of Tati’s texts. ‘Don’t forget to talk, Curt.’”

He rolls his eyes.

Owen holds out his hand and puts it on Curt’s. “I don’t want you to force yourself. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.”  
Curt intertwines their fingers. “It doesn’t. It’s just…” He laughs. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been on a second date.”  
Owen frowns, caressing Curt’s fingers with his thumb. “Second?”  
Curt winces. “Well, I didn’t exactly make it easy at your roomate’s concert. Where is he, by the way?”  
“At his boyfriend’s. And, true, you didn’t help me make it a date. _Though_ that conversation about Jack White was better than most first dates I’ve been to.”  
“Well, luckily none of us is a Lazaretto guy. That could have gone very differently.” Curt brushes his fingers too and, sheepishly, without looking at him, adds: “I almost didn’t come.”  
“Really? Why?”  
“Because… Barb and Tati were convinced otherwise, but… for me, it was kinda hard to believe that you could have a thing for me.”  
Owen is baffled. “Why? You are… I’ve kinda had a thing for you since the first time I’ve seen you smile. Hell, I _might_ have started shipping us _before_ Tatiana did.”  
Curt laughs. “It’s just… you were always flirting with Barb and Tatiana, complimenting them, all of that. Not that they don’t deserve compliments, but… when they said you had a crush on me, I didn’t see any proof to support that.”  
Owen bites his lip. He sees where Curt is coming from. “It’s… It was easier to flirt with them. It didn’t mean anything. Doing it with felt like… putting myself out there, you know. I couldn’t… It wasn’t as easy. I didn’t want to scare you off, or say too much, or too little, or…” He laughs. “It was hard, you know?”

Curt laughs too, and his phone buzzes again.

“Maybe you should answer her,” says Owen with a nod toward the jacket. “Just to tell her that you’re actually _talking_. Or is she gonna keep pestering you anyway?”  
“I’ll just turn my phone off.”

Curt presses Owen’s fingers between his and gets up to his jacket. Owen starts to clear the table as Curt retrieves the phone from his jacket. His thumb slides on the screen and he laughs quietly.

“What’s she saying?” asks Owen, approaching from behind, plates in his hands.  
“Well, ‘TALK’, ‘Stay hydrated’, and…”

He shows the screen at Owen, who is standing behind his shoulder.  
“Don’t forget to use protection,” says the last text. Owen huffs and kisses Curt in the neck. Another text pops up, saying “Please remember that Jack White isn’t the only viable conversation topic.”

“Go back to your dance class,” texts back Curt before turning off the alarms and then the device.  
“There. She won’t bother us anymore,” he says, leaning back against Owen and briefly closing his eyes.  
Owen kisses his neck and inspires deeply. “Just let me put those plates away,” he whispers.  
Curt trails his fingers on Owen’s jaw. “Be quick,” he whispers back.

Owen smiles against his neck and kisses him again.

 

***

 

“Curt, you can’t just go MIA for _a whole weekend_ and then refuse to tell us _anything_. Once again, _you go on dates so you can tell us about it_.”  
“Weren’t you supposed to be at a dance weekend?.”  
Tatiana blocks his way to the room and says: “I was, but Esmeralda talked a lot and I got bored. And don’t try to outsmart me, Curt. You know you can’t.”  
Curt smiles smugly. “No, I can’t. But, for once, I can withhold some information from you, so let me enjoy that.”  
“Your joy causes us great distress, Curt!” yells Barb from the register.  
“My life is the opposite all of the time, get over it!”  
Tatiana, who has been carefully observing him all that time, affirms: “You did get laid. And multiple times, I’d say.”  
“What makes you says that?” asks Curt, arching his eyebrows in surprise.  
“Well, first, that smug confidence of yours. Second, _you went MIA for a whole weekend_. And third, that hickey on your neck is not very well hidden.”

Curt passes his hand on his neck, as if to make it disappear. He feels like he’s blushing. He probably is.

“Yeah,” he breathes without looking at her.  
“Yaaaaaay!” yells Barb. “Game, set, and match, my friend!”  
“How was it?” asks Tatiana.  
“I’m not telling you! This is a shop! With customers!”  
“Well, tonight, then. Drinks. At the One more shot.”  
“On you, then.”  
“On me,” she agrees. “But tell us, at least: was it good?”  
He shrugs as he passes by her. “Well, practice makes perfect.”

 

***

 

“Good morning, darlings! Barb, you’re a ray of sunshine in today’s grey sky. And, Tati, did I ever tell you that your scowl always lights my days?”  
“Save your sweet talk for your boyfriend, Owen.”  
“Always, Tati. _Always_ ,” he says with a hand on his heart.  
“I see acting school is going well.”  
“To be honest, my natural charm does most of the work.”  
“Natural charm _and_ lack of humility, as you can see,” says Curt, coming from the reserve.

He quickly kisses Owen, and lets a hand slide on his waist as he walks into the room.

“Hey, love,” smiles Owen with a soft voice, his whole body turning to keep him in sight. “How’s it going, today? Are students back, or not yet?”  
“Probably next week”, answers Barb. “Meanwhile, we enjoy the last of the holidays.”  
“Great! Can I talk to you for a minute, Curt, then?”

Tatiana makes a barfing sound.

“Please, if you’re gonna start whispering sweet words at each other, do it away from me.”  
“Hey!” protests Curt. “You wanted to know _everything_ at the beginning of our relationship, you have to know _everything_ now too.”  
“Sorry, we don’t make the rules,” adds Owen.  
She rolls her eyes. “Then please don’t call each other pet names while you’re here.”  
“I have something for you, love,” says Owen as Curt approaches.

Tatiana winces before going to the farthest bit of the room.

“Oooh, is it a three month anniversary present? Or a you’re-both-back-to-school present?” asks Barb.  
“Something like that, yeah,” smiles Owen.  
“Actually,” says Curt, “I’ve got something for you too. Wait a sec.”

He goes back into the reserve, and comes out with an envelope in his hand. Owen holds another envelope.

“So we trade, now?” his asks, holding his out to Curt.

They exchange envelopes, open them slowly, glancing at the other’s reaction, then both laugh as they look inside.

“Seriously?” says Owen.  
“What is it?” asks Barb, leaning toward them.

Even Tatiana gets closer.

“Jack White concert tickets,” answers Curt.  
“You guys are nerds,” says Tatiana.  
“You both got each other Jack White tickets?!” asks Barb.  
“It’s not for the same date,” says Curt, taking his out. “We lucked out,” he adds with a smile to Owen.  
Owen leans forward and kisses him over the bar. “Thanks, love.”  
“Thank you too,” says Curt.  
“You’re really gonna go see him twice? What is the point?” asks Tatiana.

They both look at her in disbelief.

“Tati, I love you,” eventually says Curt, “so please know this is with love that I’m gonna tell you this: you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

**Author's Note:**

> Musically, Curt is me (I, too, am a Boarding House Reach Girl) (I, too, am not sure I could date a Lazaretto person).  
> If you're interested, every single artist, record and song mentionned in here is worth checking out. (Yes, even Lazaretto) (which is not great for a Jack White record but, you know, still pretty good compared to records in general) (because, even hen he's not great, Jack White is still amazing) (but you didn't come here to hear me rant about Jack White).
> 
> If you want, iImade a playlist over there with the songs and artists mentionned: [Find it here !](https://open.spotify.com/user/loria_no/playlist/2UvkkDDvQYYoazEtMDiQMo?si=d4AX9g5HR8iiBFi29DR6zA)
> 
> Also, writing from Owen's point of view is hard for me but, stubborn as I am, when I set rules for myself, I refuse to bypass them.
> 
> And, yeah, basically, either no one is working ever in this coffee shop, or every single customer knows about Curt's sentimental life.
> 
> (Steve and his band Chaos Talking come from another of my stories, and since I'm a lazy person I always use the same characters so hey, here they are.)


End file.
